


Get Rid of Them

by hinatata



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Underage Drinking, light gore, tw: hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 19:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16750567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinatata/pseuds/hinatata
Summary: Panic attacks come at any given moment. They don't need a trigger. They don't need a force. Sometimes even while having a really great night, they just happen.Tweek learns that the hard way, but he's so relieved Craig is there to help.





	Get Rid of Them

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i wrote my worst panic attack so this fic actually makes me really uncomfortable and emotional reliving it

Token always threw wild parties. That was nothing new. And neither was drinking themselves silly. Or to the point they had to take a piss literally every five minutes. So Craig followed Tweek to the bathroom, fumbling up the stairs from the basement, trying for the opportunity to get handsy, though batted away with the warning that Tweek was “literally going to piss his pants”. Craig waited, propped against the door outside while Tweek did his business.

Tweek’s had a good time that night. He’s had a lot of fun. He’s drunk, clearly, his boyfriend has been all over him, and his friends were all including him in their shenanigans. Pretty good time. He was excited to go back to the party, drink more, and for whatever more to come.

He goes to wash his hands. He glances up to look at himself in the mirror, giving himself a goofy, drunk smile. When he looks back down his vision twists and turns and his breath hitches, and shoulders tighten.

It was like seeing intestines in sink, wet tissue, soaked in blood. His hands were carved to the bone, goopy red seeping from every incision, as if someone had diced them with a knife, weird and bent in ways they shouldn’t be.

Tweek immediately backs away from the sink as fast as he could, back crashing roughly into the cabinets with a loud thud. He’s breathing hard and shaking, making anxious noises, trying not to outright scream.

He’s looking down at his trembling hands. Logically, he can see his hands are fine and there’s nothing wrong with them. But in his mind he’s panicking. They look wrong. They look bent. They look raw. They look like the fat has been sliced through and peeled from the bone, muscles distorted and straining, nails jagged nearly torn off. It looks painful. Like the skin that’s still there has been bubbled and boiled. Like the bones poking through are cracked and dislocated. They’re so distorted in his mind. He’s afraid of them.

_Get rid of them._

The dirty, dirty thought that made his hands pulse and burn, and his wrists ache with horrendous pressure from his brain telling him that he’d be better off without them.

_Cut them off. Cut them off. Cut them off._

His whole body is trembling and he’s letting out sobs, yet no tears have fallen yet. He can’t move. He’s frozen in his spot, though he’s afraid his shaking legs may give out.

“Tweek, are you oka-“Craig opened the door to the bathroom. Tweek had taken longer than expected, and with the thuds and little shrieks, Craig had wondered what the boy had gotten himself into. But walking into this scene, Craig fully understood. He saw Tweek, shoulders hunched up so tight, eyes as wide as he could manage, lip quaking, looking as panicked as he’s ever seen him. He closed the door behind him and quickly went to Tweek’s side.

His hands were out stretched and trembling, clearly the source of Tweek’s panic. Craig reached forward and took hold of his wrists, _tight_. So tight it nearly felt like blood flow stopped. A trick they had learned when something similar like this had happened before.  It was like instant relief. Tweek’s shoulders loosened and that’s when the tears started to prick his eyes. He stepped closer to Craig, trying to calm his breath.

“What happened?” Craig finally asked. His voice was calm, concerned.

“I, I don’t know. I just looked down and suddenly—“ Tweek really didn’t want to relive it right this second. It had just happened and he hadn’t fully recovered. And Craig understood that, and didn’t push any farther.

“Do you wanna go home?” He asked after a minute.

Tweek took in a deep breath through his nose. “No. No, I’m having a lot of fun. I don’t wanna stop.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. I can’t hold your wrists all night like this though so let’s see if we can find something to tie on your wrists.”

“Th-the girls might have ponytail holders? Real tight ones have helped before.”

Craig brought Tweek’s hands to his mouth and kissed them both gently, before he slowly let go of his wrists. Tweek’s hands immediately started twitching and fumbling again.

“You okay? Need a little longer?”

Tweek took a deep breath and clenched his fists. “No. No I’m good.”

The two left the bathroom and went back to the basement to try to find Bebe and Wendy, or really any girl who may have a ponytail holder. Tweek’s hand was in Craig’s, twitching and digging his nails in. The first two girls they asked luckily had one. So Craig put one of each on Tweek’s wrists, hoping the pressure, though not as good as his own hands, would help him keep calm. Craig held Tweek’s hands gently.

“How’s it feel?”

“Better.”

And it did. The two joined their friends back on the couch to mingle. Tweek grabbed another drink, and soon seemed right back to normal, so Craig relaxed.

The night went on, and Tweek was very aware of the pressure on his wrists. It was so tight it nearly hurt. It was constantly on the back of his mind. But he tried his best to keep in pushed down.

The party had finally died. A few friends were staying the night (passing out on the couch). Craig and Tweek hadn’t decided what they were doing quite yet.

Tweek ultimately decided to use the restroom while Craig weighed the pros and cons of walking home drunk in the cold. And as he dried his hands, he looked down at the pink, raw, _ugly_ , they began to burn and the pressure on his wrists was too much and he began to sob. Loud broken sobs, and big glossy tears. Craig immediately opened the door when he heard his boyfriend crying. Tweek stumbled up to Craig, burying his face in his chest, gripping his fists in his hoodie so tight his fists were shaking. He’s mumbling incoherently through the sobs.

_“I don’t want them. I don’t want them. Cut them off. Please. They’re so awful. I hate them.”_

And just loud wailing of sobs. Craig held Tweek close. That’s it. They were going home. But _shit_ their stuff was in the basement yet.

“Listen, babe, I’m gunna need a little help while I get our stuff so we can leave okay? Do you trust me?”

Tweek looked Craig in the eyes, he was full of doubt. He trusted no one else but Craig with his panic like this. He was his everything. He trusted him with his everything.  What was going to happen? Craig left the bathroom and Clyde entered. “ _Oh god not Clyde!”_

“Clyde just hang on to his wrists, and don’t say a word, I’ll be right back.”

Clyde looked really awkward, uncomfortable, just unsure of what he was supposed to do. Tweek offered his hands out. Clyde placed his hands on his wrists. It was an incredibly loose grip. Tweek was trembling. This offered no relief, it almost made it worse. Not only was he supposed to trust someone to help him through this, but it wasn’t working. It was tortuous. He wanted to rip his arms away. To yell at him to squeeze _tighter_ but he couldn’t do anything. He was frozen.

Only minutes had passed though. Craig was back in the bathroom in no time, but it had felt so long.

“Come on, let’s go,” Craig wrapped his arm around Tweek and led him through the house and to the door.

The walk to Tweek’s house didn’t take a terribly long time, it only felt like it did. Tweek was all twitches and he had been biting back sobs the whole time.

When they snuck into the Tweak house and up to Tweek’s room, the floodgates opened. Tweek bawled. He was clawing and pulling at his hair. He picked and scratched his aching hands. Craig kissed the top of his head.

“Come on, Tweek, let’s get you ready for bed,” Craig started unbuttoning Tweek’s mismatched button down top. He also ripped off his jeans. He grabbed the discarded pajama pants on the floor, a tee shirt (that looks strikingly like his) and redressed the shaking blonde. He changed himself into some clothes that relatively fit him (though Tweek is smaller than him). “Now come one, were going to take your pills.” Craig walked to the desk. He dumped an amount from a pill organizer into his hand. He also reached for separate bottle of a strong antianxiety and takes one of those as well. He grabs a discarded water bottle on the desk and hand them all to Tweek. Tweek takes them all without question. As much as he’s not fond of taking them, he knows he needs them, especially in this moment.

Craig gets Tweek to lie down. He’s still crying, choking out sobs. Craig turns off the lights and joins him in bed. They’re facing each other, Tweek buried in Craig’s chest. Craig has hold of Tweek’s wrists, as tight as he can grasp. The crying doesn’t stop though. He’s bawling and clinging to Craig. And Craig is there for him through this.

“ _You’re hands are perfect. They’re beautiful. Nothing is wrong with them. I love your hands. They’re_ my _hands. They belong to_ me _, so you can’t do anything bad to them. I love them.”_

In a quiet, soothing voice, Craig said phrases like these over and over again. He nuzzled into Tweek’s blond hair. Tweek only seemed to cry harder, though pushing himself closer to Craig. The phrases hurt his heart. And his head didn’t seem to understand them. But he believed in Craig with everything he had. He knew this panic would pass. This horrible fixation he had. But he’s never felt safer. He feels so incredibly safe. Like there’s no possibility that he’ll lose his mind and hurt himself so severely. And in that safety comes relief. While he’s crying his eyes out, straight up bawling into Craig’s chest, he’s so relieved that he’s there.

**Author's Note:**

> hit up my twitter @grilledfeet im real obsessed with creek right now on there


End file.
